


All of My Change I Spent On You

by VforVitaly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:30:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VforVitaly/pseuds/VforVitaly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Derek leaves, he tries to forget everything, but every so often, he finds himself calling Stiles from a payphone, just wanting to hear his voice and make sure that he's alright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All of My Change I Spent On You

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Payphone, my Maroon 5!  
> [the plot for this was co-created by http://superwholockwolf.tumblr.com]

            It’s been 6 months, 14 days, 17 hours, 36 minutes and 48, 49, 50 seconds since Derek left Beacon Hills, and for the most part, he’s been alright.

            He spent the first three months with Cora, but she made some friends in Delaware, and decided to stay with them for awhile, and Derek, well, he wasn’t really ready to settle in just yet. He hadn’t found a place that seemed like home to him, so he left her, assuring her that she could always call if she needed him, and he’d come for her, and took off by himself.

            Most of the time, Derek is alright. He does shockingly well on his own, and he thinks that maybe it’s because there’s no one around for him to make miserable, and he’s done a pretty good job of making people miserable in the past, even the people he cares about. Hell, especially the people he cares about.

            Still, every so often, he misses Beacon Hills. He misses his pack – which, at the end there, was a little confusing. It was muddled, but that didn’t seem to matter, because, well, they were a pack.

            He’s an Omega now, a lone wolf, and most days, that suits him just fine, but sometimes, just sometimes, and usually late at night, Derek becomes overwhelmed by the urge to know if people from his past are alright. Specifically one person.

            Specifically Stiles.

            The attachment to Stiles, he doesn’t really understand, not at first, so he excuses it by saying that he’s worried about the human. Stiles isn’t a wolf, he’s not a hunter, not a druid, not a banshee, and as a result, less able to fend for himself…or at least that’s what Derek tells himself to rationalize the calls he makes more or less once a month, to the young man’s cell phone.

            Just to make sure he’s okay.

            Just to make sure he’s still alive.

            Derek never says a word. He calls, and when Stiles picks up, and says “hello”, he hangs up. Every single time. He doesn’t want to drag everyone back into the spiral of hell that he had them in when he was there, he just wants to know that Stiles is still breathing, and that simple “hello” tells him everything he needs to know.

            Derek never calls from his own phone, always from a payphone, and since he’s never in the same place for long, it’s never the same area code, and he doesn’t think Stiles suspects it’s the same person. He doesn’t call with enough frequency for it to be at.

            This time, he’s in Denver, Colorado, when the urge overcomes him. It’s about 11 PM, and it’s a school night, so Derek hopes that Stiles is at home, in bed, safe, when he calls.

            The phone rings twice, and then that familiar click, followed by a familiar “Hello.”

            Derek smiles, but he makes sure to hold his breath. He doesn’t want Stiles to get worried that someone is calling him, breathing heavily, and hanging up. Stiles is exactly the sort of person that would read too much into that.

            “Hello?” the voice says again. “Who is this? Anybody there?”

            That’s when Derek hangs up, because, well, it’s time to take a breath, if nothing else. He sighs as he puts the phone back on the receiver and walks back up the hill to his motel room. Stiles is alive. He’s well. That’s what really matters.

 

            It’s three full weeks, and a couple days, before the urge to call Stiles strikes Derek again. This time, he’s in Tulsa, Oklahoma. He’s been here about a week and a half, working a construction job for pay. Sure, he doesn’t need the money, but he’s taken to get odd jobs where he can because it gives him human interaction, and something to do. He’s fine being alone, but being alone _all_ of the time is how you wind up starving to death in the Alaskan Wilderness, and that’s not what Derek wants.

            He has to drive a couple of miles to find a payphone, but it’s easier than risking a number that Stiles could call back and get a voicemail. He doesn’t want to let Stiles know it’s him that’s calling, he thinks that would make it weird, and that it would, well, make things complicated, and complicated isn’t what he wants. Derek has had enough of complicated, and now he just wants solitude, even if that’s not exactly normal for someone his age.

            He dials the number – one which he’s committed to memory now, and taps his fingers against the side of the payphone box as he waits for Stiles to answer.

            It rings once, twice, three times, then four, and then-

            “Hey, this is Stiles’ phone, leave a message and I’ll hitcha back when I have a sec!”

            Derek slams the phone down faster than he can even think about what’s he doing, and shoves more coins into the slot, dialing the number again.

            “Hey, this is Stiles’ phone, leave a message and I’ll hitcha back when I have a sec!”

            Derek hangs up quickly again, before it can leave a message, and takes a deep breath. So what if it’s the first time that Stiles hasn’t answered when he’s called? That doesn’t mean he’s not alright. It’s a Friday night. He’s probably at a party or something. Derek convinces himself that everything is fine, and drives back to his motel, where he proceeds to lie awake, coming up with every possible scenario he can for what could have happened to Stiles.

            The next day, after work, he goes back to the payphone and tries again.

            “Hey, this is Stiles’ phone, leave a message and I’ll hitcha back when I have a s-”

            This time, Derek hangs up even before the message finishes. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. It’s just not like Stiles not to answer his phone. Not at all.

            He tries again, before work the next morning, and it’s the same drill. No answer, and he’s starting to get worried.

            Still, he makes himself go to work. He gets to the construction site and puts all of his fear and worry into hammering boards into place. If he can just channel all of that tense energy into his job, he’ll be fine, but he can’t. On his lunch break, he cracks, and calls Stiles again, from the nearest payphone.

            “Hey, this is Stiles’ phone, leave a message and-”

            He sets down the receiver and takes a deep breath. That’s five missed calls at four different times of day. That’s not good, that’s not a good sign.

            Still, Derek goes back to work, makes it through the rest of the day. He eats, goes back to the motel, and tries stiles one more time before going to bed. This time, though, he just can’t sleep. Around 3 AM, he checks out of the motel. Derek uses the GPS on his phone to figure out that there’s about a 26 hour drive between Tulsa and Beacon Hills, but if he drives fast, and doesn’t stop much, maybe, just maybe, he can make it in 24, so that’s what he does.

            Fueled by the fear that Stiles has met some unfortunate end, Derek blasts down highways and back roads – whatever his GPS tells him will be the fastest. He stops every few hours to get coffee, go to the bathroom, and of course, use the rest stop pay phones to try Stiles, but time and time again, he just gets voicemail, and with every missed call, Derek becomes more and more certain that something horrible has happened to Stiles.

           

            When he finally reaches Beacon Hills, it’s about 4:15 in the morning, and he knows that he shouldn’t go to any front doors, but he needs to know if Stiles is okay. Outside of the Stilinski house, he picks up the young man’s scent, but from the outside, he can’t tell if it’s fresh or not.

            Silently, but frantically, he climbs up the roof and slips into Stiles’ open window. He falls to the floor with a soft thud, and before he knows what’s going on, there’s a taser being shot right at his chest.

            He falls back, luckily, since he was already on the ground, it’s not far, and looks up as Stiles turns the light on.

            “Holy shit…Derek?” Stiles looks shocked, standing there in a ratty old Pink Floyd t-shirt and plaid boxers, holding the taser gun. “What the fuck are you doing coming through my window? It’s 4 in the fucking morning!”

            “I…” Derek pulls the taser away from him, looking up at Stiles. He seems to be just fine. “You didn’t answer your phone.”

            “What do you mean I didn’t answer my phone? Derek, you don’t call me! You don’t call any of us! No one’s heard from you in like, 7 months! The only reason any of us know you’re okay at all is because we hear from Cora from time to time, and she says she hears from you!”

            “Oh.” Derek gets to his feet, realizing that he’s going to have to explain himself here. “Look, Stiles, I…I do call you, okay? Every few weeks, I call from a payphone, and I hang up as soon as you answer, I-”

            “That was _you?”_ Stiles asks, lowering the taser finally, setting it on his bedside table. “You’re the one who calls and just…hangs up?”

            “Yeah…” Derek looks at him. “But Stiles, I do it because, well, it’s just my way of making sure you’re okay.”

            “Do you call the others?” Stiles asks. He hasn’t heard of anyone else getting weird phone calls, but his were infrequent enough that he hadn’t really categorized them as weird at all, just people realizing they had the wrong number as soon as he answered.

            “Well…no, but I-”

            Derek doesn’t get to finish what he’s saying, because Stiles launches himself into Derek’s arms, nearly tackling him to the ground, but Derek stumbles backwards, using the wall, and an outstretched arm to keep them from falling to the carpeted floor.

            Stiles clings to Derek, and Derek says nothing, he merely wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist, and holds him in the tight embrace because, well, god damnit, he missed this kid.

            It’s then that it finally dawns on him, why he needed to hear Stiles’ voice so badly, why he needed to make sure that Stiles was okay above anyone else. Why he jumped in his car and drove for 25 hour to get here, just to make sure that he was still alive, when he could have called Scott, or done something more rational. When he’s worried about Stiles, rationality sort of goes out the window.

            Without saying anything, Derek pulls back slightly and puts his hand on Stiles’ cheek, drawing Stiles gaze up to meet his own. Stiles eyes say most everything, and what they don’t say, the younger man’s racing heart finishes for him, so Derek acts. He draws Stiles closer to him and leans down, capturing Stiles lips in a kiss.

            For a second, Stiles does nothing, and Derek’s nervous, worried that he misread the signs, but then Stiles is kissing him back, his hands tightening around Derek, and the older man knows that he wasn’t wrong, that for once in his life, he’s not doing the wrong thing by kissing somebody.

            “Wow,” Stiles whispers when they finally break apart.

            “That…yeah, pretty much sums it up.” Derek smiles down at Stiles.

            “Just…um, just so you know,” Stiles smiles awkwardly. “My phone met an untimely end in a pot of spaghetti sauce, and I have not, as of yet, replaced it…”

            “Oh.” Derek blushes. That…made a lot of sense.

            “But it’s really sweet,” Stiles moves in and takes another kiss. “You know, that you drove all the way here to make sure I was okay.”

            “Yeah, I…I probably could have called Scott, or you know, your dad, but I just got so worried, I couldn’t think straight.”

            “How far’d you drive?” Stiles asks, genuinely curious.

            “From Tulsa.”

            “Oklahoma?” Stiles eyes widen. “That’s…that’s like, over a day’s drive.”

            “Yeah.” Derek smiles sheepishly. “Well, like I said, I wasn’t really thinking…I drove straight through.”

            “God, you must be exhausted.” Stiles doesn’t wait for Derek’s answer before he takes his hand and pulls Derek over to the bed. He crawls in himself, waiting for Derek to shed his jacket and shoes before joining him.  

            Stiles lies down, and Derek lies down behind him, playing big spoon to Stiles’ little one, arms wrapped tightly around the younger man.

            “I’m really, really glad you’re alright,” Derek says softly, gently kissing the back of Stiles’ neck.

            “I’m really, really glad that you’re home,” Stiles counters. “Just…don’t leave me again, okay?”

            “I won’t.” Derek smiles, knowing, that it’s true. He’s here, because this is where he’s supposed to be. With stiles. He just had to travel America for 7 months to figure that out.

            “Get some sleep, Sourwolf.” Stiles cuddles against Derek, and they both fall asleep quickly, holding on to each other as though they’ll drift apart if they let go for so much as a second.

            When Derek wakes up in the morning, he’s sure that what happened was a dream, but when rolls over to find he’s still got Stiles in his arms, he just smiles and closes his eyes, going back to sleep, feeling as though he’s finally found where he belongs, and that it was a person. Not a place.


End file.
